


Disconnect

by octopedingenue



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 3 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Phone Calls & Telephones, Yuletide 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopedingenue/pseuds/octopedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three calls Malcolm Merlyn didn't make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



> Major season 1 spoilers through the finale, "Sacrifice." To be safe, assume season 2 spoilers through "Three Ghosts."
> 
> Last-minute technical issues (read: posted the wrong version) finally fixed (I hope)!

> I believe life ends with death, and that is all.  
> You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,  
> in my new black leather phone book there's your name  
> and the disconnected number I still call.  
>  _—Tony Harrison, "Long Distance II"_  
> 

**1997**

The funeral for Rebecca Merlyn was the most tastefully lavish affair Montmercy Funeral Home had ever arranged. It was monstrous. Malcolm tasted the obscenity of it in the back of his throat like ash. All this crowd of smug, black-clad mourners, where were all of (him) them when Rebecca was bleeding out into a Glades sewer drain? The polished patrician smile on his face felt carved into his flesh like a wound.

“I just don’t know what we’ll do without Rebecca,” moaned the weeping woman in front of him. Malcolm knew for a fact that she’d schemed to kick Rebecca off their shared sorority council, in retaliation for a perceived slight at a Christmas party years before.

“Thank you. Rebecca would be touched by your friendship.” Rebecca would be revolted by the leeches and social climbers parasitizing her funeral. She’d preferred to spend her time among the less fortunate, helping the downtrodden of the Glades, the same people who left her gutshot to die by agonizing inches. Surely even Rebecca would have laughed at the irony.

“And your poor little boy,” the woman continued to moan. How much force would it require to rip her tongue from her throat and use it to strangle her? “How terrible for Rebecca to die, when he’s so young! Poor darling Timmy!”

“Tommy,” Malcolm said. “Thank you for the reminder that my son is now motherless, it had never occurred to me before.”

The woman’s face wrinkled in confusion. _Enough._ Malcolm left her there, and he shoved roughly past the other grasping hands as he pushed his way outside.

The day was clear and sunny, the breeze a cool touch on Malcolm's face, and every part of it was a lie. _Enough of this_. He could be on a chartered plane in an hour to anywhere in the world. Monaco, Tokyo, all of the places Rebecca loved to visit and would never again see. His cellphone was already in his hand. He would order the sale or destruction of every piece of Merlyn property in Starling City. Burn the earth, salt the ashes.

In a corner of the parking lot shaded by a fence, a pair of small figures slumped side by side against a trash dumpster. Side by side sat two little boys, one dark and one fair, reminiscent of somber penguins in their identical dark suits. Oliver Queen had his eyes closed, and he’d pulled Tommy into a tight one-armed hug. Beneath Oliver’s arm, Tommy's head was hidden in his pulled-up knees. His body shook soundlessly with every breath.

"Tommy," Malcolm said. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and crouched in front of the boys. Oliver blinked at him with eyes puffy from crying. Tommy didn’t look up or move.

“Oliver, why don’t you give us a moment,” Malcolm said, as gently as he could. “Your parents will be looking for you inside.”

Oliver obediently untangled himself from Tommy and stood, but then hesitated, scrubbing at his nose with one hand. “I just…I didn’t want to leave him by himself.”

"It's all right, Oliver,” Malcolm said. “I’m here now. We'll see you back at the house, later."

When they were alone Malcolm pulled Tommy into a hug, and all the air seemed to rush from his little body at once. Tommy buried his face in his father’s shoulder, all tears and mucus and a small muffled refrain: _Mommy, Mommy, Mommy._

In Malcolm’s arms Tommy felt as light as a doll. The universe contracted to this single point: Tommy, heartbroken and fragile and the only object imbued with any meaning.

"I'm here," Malcolm said. "I know it hurts, but your daddy's here."

 

**2007**

“Mr. Lee. I’m curious why you would ever contact me directly, let alone on a non-secured line. This is not the level of carefulness I pay you for.”

“I apologize for the indiscretion, sir,” said the smooth voice on the other end of the line. “A situation has arisen regarding the package we have scheduled to be delivered. I knew you would wish to be kept informed, sir. Again, please pardon my presumption. ”

“Don’t apologize. Explain.”

“Sir, you expressed a desire to minimize personnel involved in the package delivery. We’ve sought to reduce the expected collateral damage and relevant complications—“

“Explain _concisely_ , Mr. Lee.”

“Mr. Queen brought guests with him,” Lee said. “His son, Oliver, and the son’s female companion, one Sarah Lance. The _Queen’s Gambit_ departed on schedule and is now en route with its extra passengers on board.”

“I see.”

There was a long pause on both ends of the line, as Mr. Lee presumably contemplated his career choices and Malcolm Merlyn contemplated a picture of his wife and son framed on his desk. A picture came to his mind unbidden: two little boys in dark suits, one with that shock of blond hair.

“Time is short, sir,” Lee said at last, carefully. “The package is en route, as I said. If you’d like to divert delivery at this point, I need to contact our technical consultant immediately.”

“Then do it,” Malcolm said. “Cancel the operation. We’ll reschedule without the extra personnel, as you said.”

"Very good, sir."

"And never contact me through this line again."

 

  **2012**

Blood was filling up Malcolm’s mouth. A good sign. His heart was still beating. Missing teeth, respiratory failure well on its way to one collapsed lung—still breathing. Survivable. _The body builds redundancy,_ he thought, and felt a laugh bubbling up his throat, rust-flavored.

"Merlyn. This is your last chance. Tell me where the second earthquake generator is.”

The boy was as meddlesome as his father. Should have paid to dredge the ocean for their bodies, brought back their hearts in a box to eat them and be sure—

Oliver was still talking. "—enough time to stop it. No, Merlyn, look at— _listen_ to me." Oliver shoved something into Malcolm's hand; Malcolm's fingers curled around it automatically. " _Malcolm._ Tommy is in the Glades."

Malcolm was holding a smartphone. On its bright screen was a simple map of Starling City, one pinprick of light labeled in the heart of the Glades: _Tommy Merlyn, last known location._

"If you ever gave a damn about him," the boy said, "tell me how to stop it."

There was just enough energy left in Malcolm's body to fumble the map app to the correct street intersection (blood smeared on the screen), mumble out the override code through broken teeth. Oliver left him sprawled on the roof in the recovery position, listening to the distant wail of sirens and the rumble of the first earthquake machine doing its work.

This is how Rebecca died. The stabbing hopeless pain of waiting for help from the darkness, for someone, anyone, to get there in time. _If I live through this,_ Malcolm thought. If he lives through this, he won’t survive it.

**Author's Note:**

> The epigraph and title are from "[Long Distance II](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15513)" by Tony Harrison.


End file.
